


Ransom My Heart But Baby Don't Look Back

by justanothersong



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because eff canon, Clintasha - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Injured Natasha, Inspired by Music, Radio, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected road trip gives Clint time to reflect on his relationship with Natasha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ransom My Heart But Baby Don't Look Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kiriei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiriei/gifts).



They were running again. It seemed that every few years they were hitting the road, tearing off like a bat out of hell, and running for their lives. It seemed pretty much par for the course. Every time they did their job, every time they saved the world and countless innocent lives, the aftermath would always seem them forced into the spotlight and blamed for any damage or lives lost in the fight. The world would be ending with hellfire and brimstone raining down from the sky, and 24 hours later when the threat had been put down, some uppity prick in an overpriced suit would start yelling about all the trouble the Avengers had wrought in saving his stupid ass.

And so they ran.

They had actually come for them this time, men in suits flanked by men in trench coats showing up at the Tower, sneering at them and brandishing handcuffs, as though any of them would have been unable to escape such paltry chains. Natasha had declared long before then that she would never be taken in against her will, and when all of their would-be captors were out cold on the lobby floor, they ran.

Clint had paid cash for an inconspicuous old Crown Vic with a bench front seat and fringe of rust creeping up from the undercarriage, and he and Natasha had set out on an unexpected road trip. They weren’t divided this time, the warrants out were upon all of them, but they split up for safety’s sake. 

They headed west; if a few days’ time, there would be an unremarkable little boat waiting at a pier in San Francisco, that would take out to a larger ship destined for South America. They had all learned over the years to keep small hideaways for themselves, and Natasha had a place waiting for them on Isla Isabela. For now, all they had to do was drive.

 

Clint glanced over at Natasha, seated beside him and leaned against her window, her right wrist cradled tenderly in her lap. He knew it hurt her, but she had declined any offers of help, even when he suggested breaking into a pharmacy overnight to get her something for the pain. It was a bad bruising of the bone, and Bruce had wrapped it for her before he had left with Tony for the former’s condo in Cape Verde. 

Clint sighed to himself. Much as he hated the circumstance, he enjoyed having a rare quiet moment with Natasha. The open road stretched out before them, the night sky speckled with stars above, and the empty highway flanked by row upon row of cornstalks swaying in the breeze. It wouldn’t be all that bad, Clint reasoned, if Nat weren’t hurt and they weren’t pretty much running for their lives.

He knew people didn’t get it -- didn’t get them. Anyone could see that Natasha was beautiful but few were able to look past the stoic mask she wore. No one knew her like he did, knew her concerns and her fears and the things she hated about herself. He never understood why she opened up to him in the first place, but he was incredibly grateful that she had.

Maybe it might seem strange to anyone else, the quiet between them even now as they drove along the deserted highway, but Clint knew better. 

He knew there didn’t always have to be words.

Sometimes just being there was enough.

 

The radio crackled with a mix of static and old world preacher prattling on about sin and damnation, and Clint reached to fiddle with it. They hadn’t found a decent station to listen to in a few hours and he was about ready to turn if off when he hit upon a clear voice. It was just a dj babbling on about local events but it was still better than a bulleted list reading of the seven deadlies.

“If you’re still with us at the midnight hour, we’re going to go ahead and start another artist block in our Rock Block Weekend,” the DJ droned on, trying to sound excited even in the late hour. He rambled a little longer but Clint wasn’t paying much attention, still worried about Nat and her injured wrist.

She never liked to admit she was hurt.

He was surprised when he glanced over at her again and saw the corners of her mouth quirk upward in the barest hint of a smile. He wasn’t quite sure what caused it, until he saw her begin nodding her head just slightly to the beat of the music.

It took him a second to recognize the track but when he did, Clint smirked.

“Really, Nat?” he asked, nodding his head towards the radio as Pat Benatar crooned out the lyrics to _Hit Me With Your Best Shot_.

Natasha arched an eyebrow at him, still smiling that little smile, but said nothing. Clint reached forward and turned the music up a little louder.

Clint found himself bobbing his head along to the music as well, and when the song changed and _Shadows of the Night_ started playing, he felt Natasha’s hand creep across the seat and twine into his own. When he glanced at her, she had moved closer along the bench seat and smiled at him again, a full smile that lit her green eyes in a way that he hadn’t seen in a long time. 

He smile back and tightened their fingers together; Natasha started humming along to the tune.

They stayed that way through _Heartbreaker_ and _Invincible_ , Natasha humming and occasionally squeezing his hand, and Clint found himself feeling a little less pessimistic about the whole situation. It’s not as though they hadn’t done this before. It was bound to happen occasionally in their line of work, after all.

Hell, might as well be a vacation. Not like they couldn’t use one.

 

Clint was startled out of his thoughts when he felt the warmth of another body pressing against his own. Natasha had slid across the seat and tucked her legs up, leaning into Clint and smiling when he put his free arm around her shoulders; he glanced down at her quickly and returned the smile, noting the way the light from the streetlamps glittered against the golden arrow pendant she wore around her neck. As they drove on and _We Belong_ began to play on the radio, she reached her uninjured hand and played with the soft short hairs at his neck; he sighed contentedly, and tipped his head into her reach as he steadied the wheel with one arm.

When she rested her head on his shoulder, he noticed that she was very softly singing along. He knew she had a lovely voice, though she didn’t use it often, and something warm and sweet settled heavy in his chest when he realized that she was singing _to_ him.

 

Maybe they had a crazy life together. Maybe no one else understood it. But who cared? They _belonged_ together.

**Author's Note:**

> Go listen to Pat Benatar now. _Do it_. You know you want to.


End file.
